


rebirth.

by qippy



Category: GOT7
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Timeloop!AU, qi's version of happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 19:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5677546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qippy/pseuds/qippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>JinSon / timeloop!AU / what seems like an eternity of love is rather a series of lives stitched together via memory</p>
            </blockquote>





	rebirth.

**Author's Note:**

> originally written for 7fics, home of some of the sweetest darlings you will find

Crisp, cool air nips threateningly at Jackson’s exposed skin as he hurries towards the platform. It’s metallic, rustic and filled with a kind of slimy afterthought that’s naught but a constant in these contemporary pollution-ridden times. Fresh air in this era consists of the sort of foggy taste that never sits well on the consumer, but they’re too busy hurrying from A to B to really do anything other than swerve to another lane and hope at least they’ll soon encounter the lesser of two evils.

Jackson’s burgundy tie flaps in the wind as well-polished shoes tap briskly towards the ticket barriers. A palpable sigh of relief can be heard as he notes that he’s made it with two minutes to spare; it takes a second thought for him to realise the sigh belongs to himself.

Smiling, Jackson passes through with little difficulty with a tap of his travel pass in his right hand, birthday cards held proudly in his left. He makes his way towards where he knows the third carriage will arrive and takes care to side-step a strange, sleeping man with coiffed hair and a curious sort of half-smile that’s reminiscent of wilting blooms.

A faint trail of laughter sounds in the air, and a yeasty, musky scent overwhelms Jackson’s senses as he feels a drunken couple brush by.

There’s the loud honk of the train’s arrival, a delayed scream and flashing lights.

As the world tips on its axis, Jackson knows no more.

 

-

 

“Tell me, why do you look so gloomy today?”

Jinyoung yanks off the tinsel Jackson has just draped across his shoulders, scoffing at the glittery foil that stubbornly clings to his sweater.

“Shut up, I’m tired.” Retaliating by chucking a handful of plastic baubles at Jackson, the sadistic glee Jinyoung feels as he watches Jackson yelp and dance away truly warms his soul.

Whilst Jackson’s stumbling over the various ornaments littering the rug of their smallish apartment, Jinyoung surveys their handiwork with a critical eye. Considering this is the first Christmas they’ve spent with just each other for company – the first Christmas they’ve spent together since deciding to live together – Jinyoung reckons they’ve done a rather good job of it. They’ve got dinner plans with Mark, Jaebum and their rowdy _dongsaengs_ , Christmas shopping done and most importantly, a rather ugly yet charmingly individual Christmas tree in the process of being decorated.

“But why did we have to do this at…” Jinyoung chances a glance at the nondescript clock he’d snagged from what used to be home right before being kicked to the curb. “five in the morning?”

Jackson grins over his shoulder from his place beneath the tree, looking like a giant version of an enthusiastic elf. “There’s no time like the _present_.”

With that, Jackson retrieves a small, golden-wrapped parcel from under the tree, pressing it into Jinyoung’s hands and looking mighty pleased with himself at the well-timed pun.

“That was terrible,” Jinyoung tells Jackson, smiling in fond exasperation nonetheless as he curiously examines the small package. It’s shaped like a rounded prism, metallic gold wrapping gleaming in technicolour satisfaction under the glow of the fairy lights. “Do I open it now?”

“Yep.” Popping the last syllable, Jackson plops down onto the floor, watching Jinyoung’s nimble fingers eagerly yet meticulously unwrap the small gift.

A smooth, velvet box slides from beneath the packaging.

Jinyoung’s voice catches in his throat. “Jackson, what…”

Whilst Jinyoung had been unwrapping the box, Jackson had shifted from his spot on the floor to raise himself up on a knee. His handsome features, angular in all the right places soften as he pulls the box from Jinyoung’s grasp to open it to reveal a silver ring.

“Jinyoung, will you marry me?”

Eyes blurry, Jinyoung can only reach for Jackson, pulling him flush against his body as he repeats the same word over and over. “Yes. Yes, yes, of course, _yes_!”

 

-

 

“No!” The involuntary scream which wrenches itself free from Jinyoung’s soul is drowned out in the rush of the train as it runs over the bones of the stranger who has just plunged over the edge of the platform.

For a moment, Jinyoung is lost, teetering on the edge of the bright yellow line as he wonders what it is about the handsome stranger that has evoked such a strong, instinctual reaction.

Then, the world spins and all comes rushing back in in a mess of greys and sepia tones and bright fluorescent neon, all colours of the spectrum, snapshots from all walks of life.

Jackson.

Wang.

Ka Yi.

Jackson Wang.

Family, brother, best friend and rival. Jackson Wang, dancer, fencer, businessman, fellow soldier in the trenches, friendly neighbour and loyal confidant.

Jackson Wang, Park Jinyoung’s lover.

In this lifetime, Jinyoung mourns a man he has never had the chance to properly meet.

“He seems important to you.” His best friend Jaebum remarks once he exits the graveyard.

Jinyoung chances a wistful glance back. “He is. Very.”

 

-

 

Jackson Wang breezes into Park Jinyoung’s life at the age of ten, his freshly-scrubbed baby-face at odds with his dirty knees and wild grin. The scent of baked apple and cinnamon wafts into Jinyoung’s new home as he receives the foil-covered offering he’s offered, and he barely has a second to set down the pie before Jackson’s dragging him away, chattering about how he’s _so glad_ he’s finally got someone his age to play with around here because his mama doesn’t let him take the subway by himself and no one else _quite_ understands the significance of gaming in the city arcade.

At age ten, Jinyoung is an awkwardly endearing mess of gangly limbs and wide-eyed curiosity hiding behind his mother’s legs and trying not to get in anyone’s way. He’s the type of kid who needs a few tries to settle into a comfortable pace when it comes to strangers, but there’s something about Jackson that allows Jinyoung to smile easily even as he’s pulled into Jackson’s pace, and soon they’re laughing and shoving at each other like they’ve been best friends their whole lives.

Strangely enough, as the years pass their relationship only consolidates.

Most people talk of old childhood friends with the kind of distant, wistful gaze of memories long gone, but between the two of them, Jackson and Jinyoung continue to reminiscence years after an event has passed, memories crisp as they continuously banter back and forth.

“This is so much fun!” At age thirteen, Jackson’s wild grin turns feral as he prepares to launch himself off the mattress and into the waiting pile of cushions.

“Remember that time we trashed the house when your parents weren’t home?” Fifteen and with a face filled with acne, Jackson manages the line without his voice breaking mid-syllable as he fondly recalls the reckless fun they had enjoyed two years prior.

“Jackson, this isn’t going to be like that time you nearly cracked your head open, is it?” Jinyoung asks with disapproval at eighteen, eyebrows raised even as Jackson hollers from the next room over that he was _‘A stupid teen, damnit!’_

Jinyoung blinks traitorous tears away. “Jackson Wang, you idiot!” He tells the man lying in hospital at age twenty-three who’s wrapped in bandages with the ghost of a cheeky grin fading from his features. “Didn’t you promise to stay safe when you left the town? They say you can’t fence anymore.”

Age twenty-five.

Jinyoung’s hoping to surprise Jackson for his birthday. So impatient is he, Jinyoung leaps up the steps two at a time, long legs doing what his past self could not as he travels speedily up to Jackson’s floor.

“Happy birthday, Jackson-“ Jinyoung’s voice dies in his throat as the door gives way easily beneath his hand.

The window is open.

Jinyoung rushes to the window and looks down at the drop. His heart has plummeted long before he realises what’s waiting on the pavement down below.

 

-

 

The screech of rubber tires on hard asphalt sound in Jinyoung’s ears as he desperately reaches with outstretched fingers, reaching just that bit further to push the child out of the way of the incoming car. It pans out similarly to a cliché drama plot, only worse, because this isn’t on screen and strategically shot to maximise full artistry of a critical moment; this is glass, blood, burnt rubber and gravel-filled wounds scraped open on asphalt.

This is Jinyoung saving a life, and it’s as real as it can get.

He’s not really thinking coherently. Not many really do. All he knows is that he can’t let the child die, and Jinyoung’s not even thinking about his own life, not really – he’s not thinking about survival or death, he’s just moving on instinct, and it’s only when his mind catches up to his actions right at the moment of impact does he think.

_Oh, this can be bad._

When he next opens his eyes, it’s to everything and nothing at the same time. No one knows what happens in death. Golden balconies, angels, pitch blackness and a personal construct of heaven? Concepts and theories swim the surface of human consciousness, but death is not to be grasped by the living mortal.

Sometime, somewhere during that unknown, Jinyoung receives a mission.

See, all souls receive missions upon death. They may be as simple as tending to a potted plant or as intricate as being Death’s Reaper for the decade to follow, but these missions are what keep the behind-the-scenes of the universe going, are what ensures A to B moves as planned for those mortals still on earth.

In theory, Jinyoung’s mission sounds relatively simple. If Jinyoung wishes to ascend to the true afterlife, he must pass this Trial. Jackson Wang must be kept alive past the age of twenty-five in any given lifetime. The World requires Jackson Wang alive in multiple universes, however whilst the World needs Jackson Wang to live, Fate, Time and Death have claimed his life in multiple lives over and over.

It’s up to Jinyoung to go against the odds and keep Jackson Wang alive. Jinyoung must battle Fate itself if he wants to pass World’s trial and eventually be at peace.

He just never expects to fall in love with Jackson Wang in each and every lifetime that comes to follow.

 

-

 

When Jinyoung tells his _eomma_ he wants to watch the Youth Olympics whilst they’re on vacation in Singapore, her stare is disbelieving. Jinyoung is soft cheeks and smooth fingertips, thick novels in hand and comfort clung to like a life-line with white fingers. Jinyoung isn’t continuous action and seeking the unknown, and she knows this as well as himself.

What Jinyoung’s mother doesn’t know is that her son isn’t chasing the unknown, but rather his dreams. Dreams which speak of laughing eyes and mischievous smirks, dreams of someone he cannot recall meeting, but knows he must have at some point or another – the brain does not conjure faces, it simply recalls what the mind has seen once before.

Jackson Wang is a name which settles itself rather comfortably on sixteen-year-old Jinyoung’s lips, and he wants to know why.

“He didn’t win.” Jinyoung’s mother says at the conclusion to the male division for fencing, eyebrows etched in disappointment, posture tense not from the foreign spectators surrounding them but rather the intensity of the match.

Beside her, Jinyoung frowns and wonders why he isn’t more surprised. “I’m sure he’ll win something soon.”

That’s that, and soon his mother is dragging him out of his seat and back out into the humid Singapore air, basking in the delights of street food and easy strolling before it’s back to Korea and submergence into his studies.

It’s not until years later when he’s touched down in Hong Kong and subconsciously rattled off a few phrases in semi-fluent Cantonese does Jinyoung pause to re-evaluate what’s happening. It doesn’t help that he has never learnt a shred of Cantonese in his lifetime.

(In _this_ lifetime.)

“I’m a fan,” Jinyoung says, smile crinkling his eyes into twin crescent moons as he approaches a familiar-looking man outside a _you tiao_ and _hang jing bian_ vendor.

The guy turns towards him. Jinyoung idly wonders why they haven’t met in Korea. “Oh?” He says after swallowing a bite of crisp dough. “I quit fencing years ago though.”

Standing there together in the maze of sky-high apartment complexes and bustling city-dwellers, Jinyoung stumbles back as something clicks and all his long-passed memories come flooding back into his consciousness.

Jackson Wang once broke every bone in his body in his stubborn determination to never quit fencing, and this stranger – this man who Jinyoung knows, except not really, because when has he ever met a Jackson who was willing to give up on pursuing his dreams – stands before him now as a fragmented, haphazard jigsaw of identity that doesn’t quite match up to memory.

(But even though he’s not the same, he _is_. He’s the same. Just different. Just like Jinyoung.)

“Hey, are you alright?” The worried voice of Jackson Wang cuts through Jinyoung’s splitting headache, forcing all the memories (nightmares, daydreams, all from lifetimes long gone) to retreat quietly, as swiftly as they arrived with the gentle roll of receding waves.

Jinyoung manages a smile. “Never better.”

At twenty years old, this is the earliest age Jinyoung can recall remembering Jackson at. He thinks this is a sign from the above, that he’s being given more knowledge with more time to spare so he can make things right. It is not an easy journey, but it is somewhere in-between clumsy Cantonese, oily street food and neon nightlife does Jinyoung find a home in this foreign land that he has approached for the first time in a very long while.

Jinyoung thinks with Jackson Wang, the two of them can find home.

Then Jackson dies at twenty-four, a whole promised year fading as abruptly as smog in the night sky.

 

-

 

They lie together on the thin mattress, listening to the uneven droplets falling from their leaky bathroom faucet, thin sunshine tripping through half-open blinds and with their legs entwined.

“Sometimes, it feels like I’ve known you for my entire life.” Jackson says.

Jinyoung hums in response as he slides down Jackson’s body to listen to his steady heartbeat. “I know what you mean,” he says, because he does. He’s never had his memories awakened so early, but in this lifetime he had come to consciousness with all of them intact, proposals, train crashes and jumps and a few dozen first kisses all somehow sorted into his mind.

“No, like seriously.” Jackson pulls away slightly, and there’s something in his tone that has Jinyoung raising his head to look him quizzically in the eye. “I get these… flashes. They feel like memories? Only I know we’ve never experienced them together. But they’re not dreams, because sometimes I get them when I’m awake and…” Raising his arm from its previous comfortable rest around Jinyoung’s torso, Jackson runs a hand distractedly through his already-tousled hair. “I dunno? We’ve never spent Christmas together, have we?”

Jinyoung very nearly laughs, a strangled sound that sort of half-forms before being mercilessly curbed through sheer willpower. “No, we’ve only made plans for this year’s Christmas and it’s still a couple months away.” He reminds him, thinking of sleepy eyes and silver rings and promises of eternity. “Are you in one of your sappy, sentimental moods?” he asks lightly, pressing a kiss against Jackson’s throat, tone teasing because he can’t allow himself to be consumed by the remnants of the past.

(As Jackson once said, _there’s no time like the present_.)

Jackson squirms, ticklish by the contact before hugging Jinyoung impossibly closer. “Maybe,” he shrugs, smirking slightly before continuing, “But you know you love them.”

Though he rolls his eyes, Jinyoung allows Jackson to swoop in for a second kiss.

“That’s only because you’ve improved in kissing technique.”

Jackson’s gasp is loud. “I have never been a bad kisser!”

“You tried to use tongue on our second date.” Jinyoung shoots back.

“You _let_ me!”

Jinyoung does not deign to reply, partly because he knows Jackson is right.

The silence which falls after their bickering is not uncomfortable for the two. They’ve spent enough time in each other’s company to be comfortable with both loud chatter and quiet nothings, and they’re content on this morning to fall back into a peaceful lull. Sighing audibly, Jinyoung snuggles closer to the heat of Jackson’s body, wishing that the moment can be captured for the rest of time. It’s precious moments like these that fuel his desire to keep going after each failed lifetime – there’s no part of Jinyoung which is willing to give up on the love which he is blessed to receive.

Of course, the innocent peace doesn’t last for long. Soon, Jackson’s hands begin to wander down Jinyoung’s back and towards Jinyoung’s hips, prompting the other to laugh and reach up to loop his arms around Jackson’s neck even as he lifts his body slightly from the mattress to hover above Jackson’s body, their eyes meeting briefly in an exchange of mutual desire.

“So early in the morning, Jackson?” Jinyoung asks even as he allows the palm of his right hand to travel down Jackson’s front.

Jackson shrugs shamelessly, eyes glittering in excitement. “There’s nothing wrong with starting the day right.”

 

-

 

Sometime between his nth lifetime and the next, Jinyoung consciousness flickers aware to that same strange, distorted nothing and everything that he experiences in every in-between. Usually he’ll flicker into his next life with only a faint imprint of the experience, not a memory of nothing but rather an impression on the mind that fades away swiftly like a fading memory.

Jinyoung is never meant to remember what goes on in the in-between, but there’s something about this situation – so alike to the first one, back when he had been hit by the car and was at an age still low in the double-digits and not a few centuries – that gives Jinyoung the impression that maybe, maybe this will be an event to remember.

_Park Jinyoung. You have failed numerous times._

A flinch. Memory of a dying face – Jackson’s – over and over and over. Replicated hundreds of times.

_You have a choice._

What?

_Two choices._

He’s waiting.

_You may give up your mission, and Jackson Wang shall live. Or you may continue, and Jackson Wang shall die._

What kind of question is that, of course-

_If you give up your mission, whilst Jackson Wang lives both in body and spirit, your soul shall be erased from existence. You will not ascend to the true afterlife. Everything you are, everything your soul has experienced, will be nullified. You will be no more._

_Do think over your choice._

Jinyoung wakes up.

 

-

 

24 years and 11 months.

Ironically, it’s a car crash of all things.

Jinyoung wants to scream. He does scream, a loud, piercing wail that he barely recognises as his own voice. Jinyoung’s running, trying to make it in time even though there has already been impact and a sickening crunch, even though he knows he’s too late. Though he’s in a world of physical pain with skinned knees from the charcoal-coloured asphalt that’s slick with rain and blood, the only thing running through his mind is ‘No’ and ‘It’s all my fault’ – because Jackson had shoved him out of the way of the approaching car in a move reminiscent to his own a long time ago.

Back then, it was alright. Jinyoung was content with saving a life in lieu of his own, because all he wanted at the time was to make sure the other person lived. Now though, now it’s not alright, because Jackson Wang has died for the nth time and Jinyoung is so, so tired of trying to preserve vitality he can barely grasp.

Jinyoung is tired.

But Jackson Wang must live.

 

-

 

_You have made your choice._

It’s not a question. _They_ know all that happens.

_Yes._

 

-

 

_(Reincarnation is rebirth)_

They’re in a waiting room, all seven of them in their long-limbed glory, cramped in this tiny box with various staff members buzzing around plastic-backed garden chairs and loud chatter.

Mark and Youngjae are pulling faces at each other in the mirror whilst keeping their heads still, a rather impressive feat as hairstylists pull at tufts of damaged hair. Jinyoung laughs as he watches Jaebum reach over and smack Bambam in the shoulder without looking from his phone, mischievous eyes watching as Bambam yelps before grudgingly pulling away from a slumbering Yugyeom, whose body he had been poking at in his sleep – an idea which had been gleamed from a couple of members of a fellow boy-group a couple of dressing rooms away from their own.

Still smiling, Jinyoung allows his eyes to slip shut as he attempts to get some rest in before their performance later on – and promptly wheezes as a heavy weight plonks itself down onto the seat beside him, arm smacking into his chest and hot breath fanning his face.

Jinyoung opens his eyes to a cheery Jackson, stack of fan-mail in his other hand as he leans in. “What’re you doing?” Jackson’s voice cheerily sounds in his distinctive accent right in Jinyoung’s ear, minty breath fanning Jinyoung’s face.

Crinkling his nose, Jinyoung pushes not-so-gently at Jackson’s chest. “You’re heavy, get off,” he squirms away, not in the mood for cuddling at this moment in time. “I was going to get some sleep, but I see that’s not going to happen now that you’re here.” He sighs, but they both know it’s for show - Jinyoung has always been one to dote on those he likes, and Jackson is no exception.

“No, sleep!” Jackson urges. Without giving Jinyoung any time to edge in a word, Jackson yanks Jinyoung down so he’s lying horizontally on the seat, head conveniently in Jackson’s lap and legs hanging off the edge. “We’re not on until near the end anyway.” Jackson says, which is true – now that they’re not rookies anymore, their performances have been pushed to the end of award shows. It’s a small, somewhat insignificant thing, but rather nice – Jinyoung’s proud of how far they’ve all come together. “Once you’ve napped, you’re going to help me find the _PD-nim_. We need screentime.” Jackson’s tone is joking as Jinyoung shifts to get comfortable.

Jinyoung closes his eyes, easily allowing himself to be lulled into a sense of comfort and peace despite the busy bustle of the cramped dressing room. Jackson’s tone is soft as he sings quietly, the unfamiliar language of Mandarin spilling from his lips in a lilting melody that rises and falls with each breath Jinyoung takes.

With his eyes closed, Jinyoung’s thinks that in another lifetime, they could possibly have existed as lovers, what with how comfortable they are together. The thought passes through briefly, swiftly – there’s more than enough time for them to address these feelings that have been slowly building, and today is not the day.

As his mind drifts to slumber, Jinyoung wonders what to buy for Jackson’s birthday.

He’s turning 26.

**Author's Note:**

> * first time writing JinSon eek  
> * don't even ship it romantically ... I might ship it a little now  
> * please be kind to qi the sad potato ;3;


End file.
